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I'm around. Missing warmer temperatures, wishing that my house would clean itself, doing more reading these days, trying to make myself do a list of things I've put off, catching an occasion glimpse of myself in the mirror, and wondering what to do next (literally and figuratively.)
Will write more as soon as I've gotten anything figured out.
I've been watching a lot of movies lately, partially because it's something that I love to do with C. and partially because it's comforting to play movies when I'm working late at night. My latest thing has been movies that feature the theme of being loved for who you are; being loved even more because of your eccentricities and "imperfections."
Last Friday, C. and I were watching Good Will Hunting on cable, and we kept falling asleep, but I was touched by the scene in which Robin Williams is describing his wife's imperfections and how they made him love her even more, how those imperfections made her "his" wife.
Tonight, I rented "How Harry Met Sally" and "Bridget Jones Diary" because they are the kind of movies I can "watch" while I'm working and because I wanted to think about the theme of being loved for who you are. Both have pivotal ending scenes where the characters realize that everything that they ever thought made them weird or different or eccentric or even a little annoying is actually what makes them charming, adorable, cherished individuals.
Is there anything better in life than being loved for you who are?
Rachel
Last night, C. took me downtown for dinner, and then we went to this martini bar called "The Red Door." It was amazing. They had list after list after list of martinis, including the traditional ones (like the Manhattan) and the high octane ones (like the City of Angels) and the decadent ones (with names that I won't repeat here, ha ha.) I couldn't read the fine print on the menu, but C. read all the names and ingredients to me. I had a Chez and a Cosmo; he had a Red Door and a City of Angels.
The martinis were fabulous and the people watching opportunities were even better. Seriously, I don't know that I could have scripted a better night than to be cuddled up on a couch next to C., martini in hand, and whispering about the other guests at the bar, trying to figure out who came in alone and who was leaving with someone else, deciphering the body language of these two girls, one blonde, one brunette, who clearly both wanted the same man, trying to figure out what was so special about one girl's watch--she kept flashing it around to everyone at the bar.
It was really the perfect date after a seriously long week.
Love, Rachel
Let's see, I can't remember the last day I posted, and I don't feel like stopping to check it out. So, let me just tell some good things that have happened recently, and we'll call it good for up until tomorrow. :)
The Ten Dollar story
Last week, I went to the Olive Garden to pick up salad for myself, and my work friend J. She didn't have any cash on her that day, so I said, no worries, you can get it next time. Cost was 7.50.
On Monday, one of our designers came over and asked if I wanted him to get me coffee. I had no cash. But J. had ten dollars. She gave it to me; I gave it to him.
He came back with the coffee and gave me the ten dollars. I told him I'd get his coffee next time.
Yesterday, another designer brought in the cookies I'd ordered. I owed him 7.50. All I had was a ten dollar bill in cash.
Today my friend A. came in. She gave me change for the ten dollar bill. I gave the change to my friend J. My friend J. gave the 2.50 to her friend in the other building.
For some reason, it all struck me as kind of cute. Seemed like that ten dollar bill bought a lot more than just ten dollar's worth of food and drinks. :)
Rachel
This post is positively negative or maybe negatively positive, ha ha. Still, though, the outcome is ultimately good, so I'm saying that it's pre-qualified. This morning, we went outside and I scraped the ice off my windshield. The roads were crunchy with ice. I dropped J. off at school, and started driving to work. I could tell that the roads were slick, but I thought if I just drove slowly enough down the hill that everything would be just fine.
Then the light turned to red, which forced me to stop and using the brakes caused me to lose control of the car. It was only for about three seconds that my car was shuddering and sliding down the road, but it was a super long three seconds. I regained control, I didn't slide through the intersection, I didn't injure anyone else or myself.
I inched down the rest of the road and made it to work safely. Tonight when C. brought me home from getting coffee, the ice was melting into water and dripping off my carport and the skies were blue, and we decided that winter was over. So it shall be.
Love, Rachel
I've got to admit; I'm fighting for this one. The weather's got me in a crabby mood, and the lack of sleep due to the time change/nightmare combination last night has me feeling seriously cranky and extremely restless. I am supposed to be working--it's 8:30 at night, but I can't get my work e-mail to engage. Lovely.
Because I mentioned fighting in my first sentence, I am going to write about how much I like the Wii Fit. My favorite games are boxing and advanced step, which is kind of funny because both of them require rhythm, and I thought I had none. There's not much that feels better than throwing punch after punch and feeling the Wii remote buzz, like you just really connected.
As of today, we've had the Wii fit for 45 days. During that time, my Wii age has dropped to 36 (ironically, the age I was guessed at last summer at Lagoon) and my BMI has stayed the same. Although it's a normal BMI, I guess I was still hoping that after 45 days of working out that I'd see a slight change on the scale. I haven't. But I forgot my other happy news for the day, pulling my 3/4 (vanity sized for sure) jeans out of the dryer and easily slipping them on.
So, all the fighting is good for something.
Love, Rachel
Lots of happy moments this weekend; I'll list them here.
Friday
Saturday
Sunday
Love,
Rachel
I have a favorite drink. No, it's not my newly acquired taste for martinis. Nor is it an Americano (regular coffee drink) or a Mocha (vacation coffee drink.) It's not regular Coke or Diet Coke or even a glass of chilled Riesling. It's plain old club soda.
The best brand is Shasta (I also like La Croix, but they don't always have the plain kind at Target, and I don't like the lemon or lime flavored), and earlier this week, when C., J., and I were drinking coffee at the place that I call the bad H. (long story), I remembered that I was out. So, we went over to the grocery aisle, and I found club soda...not in cans...(wait for it)...but in little glass bottles.
OMG. I love it. I couldn't sleep the other night, so I got up and got a bottle of Shasta Club Soda out from the fridge and sat on the loveseat and sipped it until I fell asleep (no, I didn't add anything to it, ha ha.) I only bought six bottles, and I am down to only one left tonight. Hopefully we will go to the bad H. again soon. :)
All hail club soda (the cheapest brands are the best, for some reason.)
Rachel
It's gusty here today, so much so that the T shaped light posts in the parking lot at work were swaying in the wind. We're under a Severe Wind Alert, and the temperatures are forecast to drop thirty degrees, issuing snow in the morning. Something that made me happy today was when I was stopped at a light and realized how great my windshield wipers work. Brand new wiper fluid, a press of the button, and instantly, water spritzing prettily across the glass, and swipe, swipe, it's clean again.
Love,
Rachel
When I was younger, I always looked forward to certain nights of the week because of shows that I LOVED to watch with my family. Let's see. There was Dallas (who shot JR?), Fantasy Island, Love Boat, and when I got older, Family Ties and the Cosby Show. Television doesn't seem the same to me these days, but I do like Tuesdays because of the show Biggest Loser. It's silly, cheesy, campy and it's bad reality television at it's finest. I love watching the challenges, and I about can't wait for the weigh-ins each week. I could try and be all intellectual about it and say that it's a show about transformation and finding out who you are, but the truth is, I just like it for what it is (see silly, cheesy, and campy listed above.)
That's why I wouldn't wish away a Tuesday in March.
Love, Rachel
When I was a little girl, I watched this show called Sesame Street. When my daughter was a little girl, she watched it, too. And although we've been post-Elmo for quite some time, I was thinking of that song about the people in your neighborhood. They're the people on your street, the people who you meet, the people who you greet each day. And although I don't really know my actual neighbors, I've got great cubicle neighbors at work. Yes, my work friends are the people who I meet and greet each day...and here are the ones that I talked with personally today.
J.: one of the hardest workers and sweetest people that I know. She makes me laugh whenever she says "No Mas, No Mas!" from the Beverly Hills Chihuahua movie.
J: my coffee-drinking compatriot. He went and got me coffee at Starbucks one day when mine was all icky after they added protein powder to it.
J: who said, "I heard that this is the place to come if you want to be enlightened."
A: who said I inspired her even though she is the one who always inspires me.
W: the funniest "bad cop" that I could ever hope to meet.
D: he is so passionate about what he does that it's contagious.
L: who is always smiling, even when he had an ear infection, and who makes me want to work harder because of his dedication to his own projects.
C: her first initial should stand for "class" because she's first-class in her interactions with others.
This list doesn't count the people I e-mailed or talked with on the phone today or yelled over the cubicle walls with late in the afternoon.
I've got good co-workers, people who I really like, and for that, I'm lucky.
Love,
Rachel
My daughter and I have many things in common, including our love of taking quizzes. Today we spent three hours at the bookstore, taking personality quizzes from the American Girl quiz book collection. It was fun to see where our personalities are alike and where we are different. For example, she's much more likely to just tell her friends if she doesn't like something, while I tend to just pretend issues don't exist and hope that they'll melt away on their own. A recent e-mail she sent to a friend (which she shared with me) read: "I'm not going to do that because it would be a complete waste of my time."
One of the quizzes was on how well do you know your parent or child. That one was fun, too. She knows my birthday, my most worn-out phrases, my most favorite restaurant, and where I'd sit on a roller coaster. I loved it that she answered "wouldn't leave home without" with the answer looking nice. She knows what my dream job is, and she said that my title at work was "senior marketing executive," which made me smile.
As a writer, taking quizzes can give you hundreds of ideas for different characters, tying actions and motivations into personality types. Try taking a quiz as yourself and then as a character in your next writing project. You'll get all kinds of insights into who your character is and whether or not you're writing about a version of yourself or someone truly fictional.
Love,
Rachel
I was driving home from work last night, exhausted and cranky. I thought to myself, "I just wish that I could snap my fingers and have March be over." And then I started to cry because I realized that wishing away whole months of your life is no way to live. It's really not living at all and that's tear-worthy.
The work is not going to let up. I'm truly going to be in the middle of a March madness, but I've got to find some joy in the middle of all of it. So, that's what my blogging is going to be about in March: looking for the moments of happiness amongst the panic attacks and the hair balls. I'm going to do my best not to complain in my blog once for thirty days (I know, it will be hard) and to find something happy to write about each day.
My mom said to find a pot of gold, and that's what I'm going to do here this month, one coin at a time.
Love,
Rachel
I haven't been updating much this month! I'm exhausted from bringing work home at night and on the weekends, and my schedule is going to stay tight until May. I haven't been having whole creative thoughts--only fragments here and there. C and I are doing great, J. is loving life, and I really like the Wii Fit. I am still having allergic reactions to my contacts, and I quit eating sugar (again) two weeks ago (not that those two things are necessarily related, ha ha.) I just don't have any really interesting leftovers to share right now, not even any scraps.
What's sweet about Valentine's Day
What's not so sweet about Valentine's Day
Valentine's Day, I LUV U.
Rachel
Every Wednesday, my daughter has to stand up in front of her class and recite a poem that she’s memorized for the week. Although I have fond memories of recitations, it’s a weekly struggle for my daughter. We’ve spent hours trying to memorize poems that make no sense to her. We’ve drawn pictures of the poems. We’ve cut them into pieces and moved the pieces around on the floor. We’ve discussed what the poem actually means; I’ve had her visualize the words and think in pictures. We’ve acted them out; said them dramatically; turned the lines into songs. I’ve had her type the poems and write the lines in different colors of inks. And still, it’s a struggle to learn the poems every Tuesday night. (BTW, she doesn’t get to select the poems, and some of them are admittedly quite difficult to memorize.)
Although she may struggle to memorize the poems, her observations on poem day are always delightful. She’s figured out how everyone in her class displays their own form of nervous behavior. There are kids who twist their hands, others who shift their feet, and some who look up into the sky, like the remaining words of the poem are floating around in the air somewhere. There are kids who look right; kids who look left. Faces are scrunched up in miscellaneous ways: noses wrinkled, lips licked, ears tugged.
There are statue-kids who freeze upon uttering one wrong syllable, and others who plunge bravely into the rhythmic waters, remixing the poem with bold confidence. Some say “uh” and others say “um.” Some search their memory banks for the missing words and others look straight to the teacher for a word-feed. Some give up halfway through, and others just easily bop right through it every week.
All these observations on poem day might not get her any extra credit in class, but it’s surely blog worthy.
Love, Rachel
C. and I have this funny little thing where he asks me, "have you seen this movie?" And I just laugh, which means, "No, I did not see that classic movie, either." After watching "A Few Good Men" a few good weeks ago, I mentioned to my mom that I was mystified about all these missing movies. Was I in a movie-coma in the early 90's? Or was I just so entrenched in my fast-tracked degree in elementary education that I'd ignored everything while I struggled to learn to play the recorder? She suggested making a list of the classic films from that era that I'd missed, a task which C. took to his computer, to do the research that he does so well.
Last night, we curled up on his couch with blanket, fireplace, and coffee (one of my most favorite places to be with him) and watched "Silence of the Lambs." I had no idea it was such a powerful film. I'd never wanted to see it because it looked so scary and gruesome. But much of the thrill of the movie was in the unbloody interactions between Clarice and Hannibal, and the bizarre but oddly mesmerizing connection they shared with each other. He touches her once in the movie, for maybe two seconds, but it was the way that she let him into her mind and the way that she gets into his...and the verbal interplay between the two of them that bonded them together in a strangely gruesome and yet unforgettable way.
I am still shaking my head over the fact that the cannibal who thought nothing about gnawing off people's faces and other horrible things was a more likeable character than his prison psychiatrist. There were so many reasons to despise Hannibal's character and yet, there was still something fascinating about him, both to her character and to the audience (well, at least to me and to C.) Of course he was having an old friend for dinner at the end of the movie.
BTW, I do not like violent films or anything with blood and gore. But the psychological thrill part of this movie pulled me in. It's a good movie for a writer to study--the dialogues between Hannibal and Clarice and the many layers of his twisted and violent personality make for a brilliant study in engaging the reader.
Love, Rachel
This morning, I was at the new eye doctor's office, and I was filling out medical forms. When I got to "emergency contact," I paused. I was suddenly Sarah Jessica Parker, in an episode of Sex and the City that may or may not have existed. I could hear her voice narrating the episode and discussing with her friends what it means in your relationship when you become each others' emergency contact.
I'm not sure what Carrie would have said about it in her column, but here, in mine, all I can say is that it's pretty wonderful to ask and get an immediate yes.
Love, Rachel
P.S. I should have spun this off in some sort of emergency contact/emergency allergic reaction to my contact lenses. That's something about this random writing that I do in this blog. I don't always think of the clever spin until I've written something, and as tempting as it can be to go back and revise it on the fly, it makes this place less random.
January was full of health challenges for me. That's the nicest way I can say it. J. came back sick from Christmas vacation, and I woke up sick on my last holiday day with C. We got well just in time to go back to school and work, and then I got sick with a bad ear infection. And then I spent several days in pain when I was having problems with a crown.
So, my goal for February was to kind of restart 2009. I started exercising daily at the end of January so that I'd be ready for February, no problem. I studied up on healthier eating and added a couple of new supplements to help with energy and focus. And I was already to kick February off to a super healthy start.
Then last Saturday, I took my contacts out after C. brought me home, and my eyes were seriously red and hurting. I'd been having redness and irritation all month, but it was nothing compared to my other January maladies. People at work kept telling me that I looked tired, and I was waking up every morning with severe eye puffiness and dark circles. I even went and bought a special under eye moisturizer to help with how I looked.
On Monday, I gave in and went to my regular doctor, who'd RX'd me with a possible case of pink eye and gave me antibiotic eye drops. She also told me to immediately get an appointment with a real eye doctor, so that's where I went today. And there I found out that I DIDN'T have pink eye. I have something disgusting called Giant Papillary Conjunctivitis, which was triggered by an allergic reaction to my contacts.
I am now using steroid eye drops to help with the puffiness, swelling, itching, burning, and blurred vision. There are bumps under my upper and lower eyelids, which perfectly explains to me the fact that my eyes were puffed and that I looked tired. After things clear up, I can start wearing my contacts again--but no more sleeping in them. Not even the special "it's okay to sleep in them" kind of contacts which I was wearing.
If the allergic reaction continues, then I will have to try a different brand of contacts altogether or just go back to glasses.
Tomorrow I will be restarting February. (Which is very interesting because last year, right about this same time, I said exactly the same thing. Maybe February is a weird kind of leaping month for me, with the first few days earmarked for do-overs.)
Love,
Rachel
On Friday, C. and I went to the Olive Garden for dinner. It's one of those places where you'd never believe that the economy was bad because it's always busy, and there's always a wait. When we arrived, the manager told us to expect a fifty minute wait. We went ahead and put a name down and accepted a pager, but we were having the "do we stay or go" conversation, anyway.
A man heard us talking, and handed us his pager. I don't know if he'd decided he was done waiting or if he had an emergency at home or if his date stood him up, but he told us that his pager only had about ten minutes left on it. So, C. took it, and we went and sat down on a bench, and ten minutes later, the second pager went off.
We took it to the hostess, and she looked at C. and said, "Tom?" And he said "yes."
And that is just one of the many reasons why I love this man.
Love, Rachel
P.S. I was teasing C. in the parking lot that I was going to start calling him "Tom." I happen to know that it's a very good name. :)
The world of the Internet is populated by chatter. It's not a quiet place, even when you've got your volume set to mute. Which makes it interesting when people pull back and don't post about potentially sensitive topics. Of course, there's speculation about everything, with comments flying all about, but when principals (and I'm not talking about the person who runs the school) don't "say" a word, it amplifies the silence.
I guess there's no need to say "no comment" or to plead the fifth when you can just make the choice to leave your essay answer blank.
Love, Rachel
P.S. I think that what you choose not to say is just as important as what you choose to say.
Nope, I didn't get a ticket for speeding. I haven't ever, and it's not something on my to-do list.
I was thinking today about writing as ticket fulfillment. At work, we're currently examining options for best managing workflow and one of those solutions may be writing to tickets. Those of you who work in IT probably have a good idea of what I mean. A request comes in, a ticket is generated, the problem is solved, the ticket is closed.
In my former writing lives, we didn't get tickets; we got assignments. Here's an assignment to write a column, a feature, a book. In my current writing life, I may start getting tickets. Here's a ticket to write an ad, a video script, a power point, a drive-time audio, a business plan, a website, a newsletter, a magazine.
As I was thinking about tickets in my work writing life, I was also pondering the possibility of tickets in my personal writing life.
Should I get a non-writing ticket if I spend the night watching Lifetime movies and browsing the internet instead of working on my novel? Not keystroking quickly enough in the fast lane?
In my own little writing-society-life, what does the branch of Rachel determine to be writing ticket-worthy? Tick, tick, tick. The clock is ticking; the ticket's tricking? What says thee, oh writing society of one? What's going to get you pulled over to the side of your computer?
Should I generate my own writing tickets (i.e. assignments) like I ask others to do at work? If no one ever puts in for the work, will the project yell and echo when he falls in the forest?
Should I get "good effort" tickets to be entered into a raffle if I stay on task for a certain amount of time? If I donate a little more, can I earn a few extras? Is the prize worth it; can you give me a million reasons to play and win? What happens if I hit the bonus; is it like what happens in Jumping Jackpot?
Do I get a ticket to ride? To where, and what kind of ID is required? And do I have to take off my shoes to get through security, and who will be waiting for me at the gate? Will there be a movie to watch along the way?
Ticket, tisket, Triscuit.
Love, Rachel
Got the blues about your blues? Your blue jeans, that is? Well, never fear. The progressive, edgy denim company Rock and
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open their pocketbooks. Don’t be
heartbroken if you can’t afford a pair of their $320 “heartbreaker jeans”
because they’ve now got a line of jeans now that are priced around $130. If you don’t find it distressing to pay
$130-$280 for a pair of jeans, then this collection is just what you need to
weather the shaky economy without sacrificing a stitch.
The Furnace
It was only a bad sensor. It is fixed and working great. The cost was about $200. The company was great, and the man who fixed my furnace was friendly and professional. I would recommend them to anyone in Utah who needs furnace help: www.keepcomfy.com
I am no longer using the rachelsayshello@yahoo.com e-mail. I was receiving thousands of junk e-mails a day--in my inbox. I am now only using my other e-mail, which I will not publish in this post because I don't want to get on a list for even more junk mail. Contact me via Facebook or a relative if you need to know my new e-mail address.
Health
Ear infection is resolved; crown pain is resolved. We've had several days with sunshine in a row, and I sit next to a big window at work. The sunlight has been helping with my case of winter blues.
Putting Goals into a Notebook
I have been reading a lot about the law of attraction again lately. I haven't handwritten any goals yet because I am trying to get clear on what it is that I really want to attract, especially writing wise. I've got blank notebooks on standby for when I am ready, though.
The Novel
It is still in the editing process. I am not going to worry about all the cool ideas I have for visuals right now--I am just going to focus on improving the text. Since my novel does not have a standard plot, I have had an interesting time making sure that my character's stories all happen in the right sequence and that it will make sense to the reader how the characters are connected together. I don't want to draw ALL the lines because dot-to-dot is more fun when you have to search a little. Still, I don't want it to be confusing, either.
Saving Text Messages to my Computer
Great idea! And, I am sure it can be done. I really didn't want to save 2600 text messages, though. It's kind of like having 2600 photographs sitting on your camera, with many of them being the same image or close to it. So, like choosing the best photographs to print and scrapbook, I only saved my very favorite text messages, the ones that reminded me of something special. My post from yesterday kind of preserves the history and the patterns. I am content with that choice.
Wii versus Exercise Bike
After a year of thinking about it, we walked into a Game Stop and bought a Wii yesterday. And the Wii Fit. The exercises are varied and fun and there's lots of encouragement and motivation built in to each segment. The Wii Fit tracks our BMI, and J. is thrilled to finally join her friends in owning a Wii. We can add more games in the future, and it was easy to install and takes up a minimum of room. I did it myself in about ten minutes, and that included putting the batteries in the remotes backwards and removing them again. I got "Yoga Master" on the Yoga last night and had a lot of fun doing the hula hoop and running games. (Wii put both J. and I at healthy weights. Now we'll have a great motivation to maintain them!)
Last Sunday night, while driving my daughter to a friend's house for sleepover, I noticed that I had a little yellow envelope flashing on my cell phone. I stopped at the next red light and discovered the bad news: my memory was full, and I'd have to delete some messages to retrieve any new ones.
I wasn't sure that I wanted to delete any of them; C. and I have been text messaging since the Monday after we met for coffee for the first time.
I know it sounds silly to find meaning in little words and phrases, but my cell phone memory was a text-message-journal of our first five months together. I had about 2500 messages stored on my cell phone, and as I clicked through them one by one, I caught a glimpse of us in the pattern of the messages, the way we make plans together, the way we say "thanks" to each other, the way we have certain topics that are a running thread between us.
On 9/22, I remember: we went for lunch at Zupas, and when we came back, I sent him a message that said, "thanks for lunch, I adore you." And he sent me back a message that said, "And I love you." It was the first time he'd ever texted those words to me. Well, I had to keep that one. And the texts that said, "good night, Rachel, I love you." Well, I couldn't exactly delete those, could I?
In October, we texted about my birthday and about his, I asked him if he'd be willing to pick us up at the airport at midnight when we returned from Thanksgiving break, he said "of course I will" ; in November, I was in San Franscisco, and he texted me his congratulations when I won Nanowrimo, and told me how much he missed me and that he couldn't wait to see me when I got back home.
In December, we texted over holiday plans, and at what times he'd be over to pick me up during the holidays and how much we missed each other after getting to spend a practically text free week together in person. In January, I was sick, and he texted to find out how I was feeling and what he could bring me; and when my furnace broke, I texted that I had no heat, and he said "of course you and J. can stay over tonight."
In my times at CK, I wrote many books and articles on scrapbooking, but never one about your cell phone scrapbook. I deleted many of the messages, but I kept a few, and when I was waiting for a meeting to start today, reviewing the twenty or so that I kept was enough to make me smile and remember many good times. And after all, isn't that what a scrapbook is all about?
TTFN,
Rachel
How much would you pay for a bucket of hot air? How about a bagful of it? How about a whole houseful of it?
It’s really not a trick question—just the opening to my next joyful home repair story: my furnace officially doesn’t work, a conclusion I had to officially draw this morning. I hate drawing expensive conclusions. After all, I just replaced my hot water heater and got a new hard drive (+data recovery) for my computer and went to the doctor two weeks ago. How’s my fledging budget supposed to withstand all those hits?
If I’m writing a story, I don’t have to draw any expensive conclusions, although you know that I *do* fight against writing a “bad” ending or having anything unfortunate happen to my characters. It’s mentally taxing for me to put them in a less fortunate place, which you could equate with an expensive conclusion, even though no debit card has been swiped.
Heating guy is scheduled for the morning; I’ve got hot water; now I just need matching air.
Love,
Rachel
Eight years ago, I got a call from a woman named Stacy Julian. I knew of Stacy because she taught scrapbooking classes at my local scrapbooking store and because she’d written one of the books that I’d used to teach myself how to scrapbook. Although we’d never met in person, she was a mentor of sorts to me, even if she didn’t know it.
At the time, I was freelance writing for Creating Keepsakes magazine, and Stacy called me up to ask me to write an article for “her” new publication: Simple Scrapbooks. (It’s telling how powerful scrapbooking is—I wrote the article about eight years ago, but it’s still on the web. You can read it here: http://www.parents.com/fun/arts-crafts/scrapbooking/simple-scrapbooks-for-your-babys-first-year/). The thing I remember the most about that phone call was Stacy’s passion for what would become the sister publication of where I’d later work full-time.
I joined the staff of Creating Keepsakes full time in 2003, as an associate writer. A year later, I accepted a promotion to senior writer, and there, I authored two columns, penned numerous feature stories, and wrote and/or edited about twenty-five books. I worked right across from the staff at Simple Scrapbooks; I ate lunch in the same break room; I attended the same conventions; I was involved in some of the same brainstorming meetings. We walked the same halls; we shared the same group of readers, even as we espoused two different philosophies of scrapbooking.
Yesterday, I heard the sad news that Simple Scrapbooks is closing their doors. Although I left the scrapbooking industry a year ago, I still feel for the staff and the contributors. I can “feel” the impact that this decision must have across the board at CK Media. I have a feeling that the decision to close Simple will have a ripple effect across the lives of many people whom I know.
It’s not so simple to say good-bye,
Rachel
It’s been a coffee and a muffin type of week. I’m still holiday-transitioning, which was not made easier with winter gloom, an ear infection that was bad enough to warrant a doctor’s visit, and a painful problem with my much-despised crown (not the tiara kind, the dental kind—tell me again why I allowed them to put that awful thing in my mouth?)
Anyway, during these types of weeks, I comfort myself by stopping at the Starbucks and walking inside and ordering coffee and a muffin (yes, it’s more economical to go to work, directly to work, do not stop at Starbucks! Do not waste $200 on overpriced coffee when you can get it for free at the office! But, see coffee and muffin type of week, cited above.)
Today, as the barista asked me how my Thursday morning was going, I answered something non-committal—but I was spinning a story in my head at the same time. As I was picking the crumb topping off my blueberry muffin and waiting for her to put a stopper in my extra-strength Americano, I was thinking I’d like to spend a morning at Starbucks to hear all of the answers from customers who hadn’t yet had their morning coffee.
Because, honestly, at 8:30AM, I’ve only been up for an hour and a half, and there’s a good chance that there’s no coffee in me yet at all. So when someone asks, “how is your morning going so far?” I barely have any experiences of which to relate. What do I say? Do I tell the truth? The answers could go like this:
I was wondering how all the other not-yet-caffeinated customers would reply. And I wondered what she’d think of us if we all returned later in the day, not as needy, and with better stories.
I guess a “fine” would have worked for most people.
Love,
Rachel
I know you probably think I’m talking about credit cards—I’m not. I hope that J. will never have the opportunity to “charge it” as I’d rather teach her how to just use cash to pay her bills. However, she is definitely a part of the “charge it” generation. Just last night, she told her friend in Nevada, “yes, I do have a cell phone but it does need to be charged.” And she hasn’t been able to play her Nintendo DS because she left her charger at her dad’s house.
At our house, we constantly have electronics that must be charged. Our cell phones need to be charged. Our laptop batteries must be charged. Our regular phone must be charged. Her Nintendo DS has to be charged. Don’t forget her ipod and my ipod shuffle. And now that I’m veering towards the Wii/Wii Fit combo, I’ll probably be bringing another item into our home that must be charged up (at least the remotes or something, right?)
There are days when I think that bookcases will be replaced with charge cases; that CD towers will be replaced with charge towers; and that IKEA must be working on some sort of charge station where you can hide all of those cords and chargers in one seemingly seamless docking station. Charge!
Love, Rachel
Your Turn: Take a word that means something to most people and write about it in a different sort of way. Your unique perspectives are invaluable, and they make the world a more interesting place.
It's official. Winter depresses me. If you've been a reader of my blog over the last five years, you already know this and didn't need an official blog diagnosis. Although I have winter-optimistic friends, I can't get myself into any sort of "oh yay, it's winter" kind of mood. To me, winter is a collage of gray skies and darkened evenings and dirty snow (even when it's falling, fresh...) and black ice, interspersed with uncomfortably cold moments that turn into hours that turn into days and that morph into weeks.
I don't need a pill or a pep talk to make myself feel better about it--all I needed over the last two days were blue skies and sunshine. The roads were clear enough today that I was able to wear a dress and heels. And as I sat in my cubicle at work, the sunshine was streaming in through the windows, and I could see trails of airplane dust forming white ribbons in the sky. And my spirits were suddenly lifted, and the mantle of winter gloom was shoved under that place where I kicked off the ugly shoe boots.
That's when I started typing, and that's when I started enjoying what I was writing, so much so that I was surprised when I saw the time on the clock and to hurry to collect my things and leave to get J. from school and to go out for pizza and to meet C. at Starbucks later for coffee.
I know it's a reprieve, and it's a real one that I needed. Suddenly 45 degrees seemed like a miracle. For that, and for the fact that every day that I cross of my calendar takes me one tulip closer to spring, I am grateful.
Love, Rachel
Love, Rachel
This morning, I was driving to work, and I was thinking about this idea that I have for a novel. The novel would be based on the idea that one call could change your life. That's already been done in horror films and probably in other venues, but what if YOU got to choose the caller and the subject?
If you had one call (one call, that's all...now I've got that lawyer's commercial in my head), who would the call be from and what would they tell you? To keep it from getting too boring, there'd have to be some sort of limits on the call (or else we'd all probably be super-healthy millionaires with perfect families.) Remember, the call would be life-changing; it would be information that would change your life, even if it seems impossible at this point in time.
They say that prisoners get one call to the outside world; if you're in a prison of your own choosing, what kind of call would you accept the charges on? I know what my personal answer would be TODAY, but I don't know it's the same answer from a year ago (pretty sure it's not.)
I'm sure there'd be some sort of "there's no place like home"/"the grass is always greener" conflicts in the book. And what would happen if two people, say in a relationship, got the call, and it sent them in opposite directions?
Just musing over a potential plot for my next story (once I've resolved the final order of my characters in The One and figured out what I'm going to do about my visuals. I'm spoiled working with professional designers and knowing how to put together real books.)
Love, Rachel
I saw this movie last night with C. and J. It was a great film, even though the ending was a real tear jerker. I kept hoping they'd end the movie, but it kept going on in all it's heart-wrenching sadness. There's a lot I could say about the story about Marley, and about how we came home last night and C. looked at Jasmine (our black cat) and said, "there's your Marley." But if you see the movie, you'll feel all of those things, and so I'm going to write about other parts of the movie instead.
If you're a writer, you should see this movie because the two main characters are writers. One is a feature story writer (his wife, played by Jennifer Aniston), and the other one wants to be a hard-news reporter. But instead, he finds his voice in writing columns, many of which are about his experiences with his family and Marley. His most successful columns are the ones in which he reveals who he is and the truth of his experiences. When he's offered a position to be a "real" reporter, he jumps at the opportunity, but then he finds that his editor is critical of the fact that the editor can "hear" his voice even in what are supposed to be "just the facts" news articles.
His family treasures his columns, which his wife has clipped and kept in a scrapbook. She tells him that she looks at them whenever she needs to feel him close. The fact that reading his columns brings him closer to her, even when he's not there? Well, that's the power of writing a blog, I think. When you're writing in your own voice, in a very real way about your own life, and when you leave those stories for your family (and friends) to find? You're leaving a piece of yourself. Your words become the new comfort food.
If you need a reason to write, go and see Marley and Me. Maybe go and see it twice--once for the story about the family's relationship with the dog and once to watch the story about a writer's life.
Love, Rachel
P.S. Okay, there's more. The opening scene made me want to move to Florida now. Jennifer Aniston is describing the items on her "life list" at the beginning of the movie and after she says "move somewhere warm," C. just squeezed my hand. If I could have a job as a columnist in Florida, setting my own hours and working from home, and taking long walks on the beach and wearing all the adorable outfits that she was wearing in the film? I'd never leave.
Last night, C. and I went downtown and shopped at Pottery Barn and Williams-Sonoma. Then he surprised me by taking me to a restaurant called the Roof Top, which is aptly named because it is indeed on the top floor of a building that overlooks Temple Square.
We had a table right by the window, where we could look out and see dozens of sparkling lights across the valley. There were candles flickering on the tables and a vast array of salads, main dishes and deserts from which to choose.
I kept trying to imprint all of the moments in my mind so that I could take each one out and replay it at a later date (DVR the moments of my life?) I felt as if I was in a movie--and there was even a soundtrack. There was a piano player playing a song from Casablanca when we walked in and from the Wizard of Oz when we walked out.
This morning, we talked about other "characters" at the restaurant and scripted their stories. One of the many things that I love about C. is how he listens to my stories and adds to them, whether we're on the top of a roof overlooking a city or wrapped up in a blanket and watching football on the couch.
Love,
Rachel
I've had an interesting start to my new year. It all started last weekend, when I had a case of blues, part holidays ending, part ear infection beginning. You see, I always know when those nasty things are lurking, and it all starts with waking up in the middle of the night and feeling little pings of pain. They are always small to start; it's always an early warning system. I usually ignore it in hopes that it will go away, but it never does.
Monday night, I didn't sleep because I was in too much pain. So, Tuesday, I forced myself to go to the doctor's office, where I was diagnosed with an ear infection. I went and got medication and spent the day sleeping on the couch. J's dad brought her home late and C. brought me soup and a Coke with lots of ice.
Wednesday morning, I knew I could make it through a day at work, so I got up, got dressed,and started driving Jaeme to school The forecast was temps in the low 40's, and the roads appeared clear. There did not appear to be a large patch of black ice in the turning lane by my daughter's school. There was. My car was fighting the slide, and my steering wheel was jerking from left to right...I didn't know if we would ever stop, or if I get crashed in the middle of the intersection. I stopped right before the light.
I later found out that there were patches of black ice all over the city. There were at least two wrecks (a bus and a van; an "Avalanche" (a good snow car) and another vehicle) on the corner of the street where I work. And I was thinking that black ice is just like that. No matter how cautious you drive or how careful you are, when you hit a patch of it, there's a good chance you're going to slide. All you can hope for is the best.
I felt like I've hit more than one patch of black ice this week. Getting sick during the time when I was supposed to be back in full force at work. Hitting literal black ice on the way to work this morning when I really wasn't feeling all that great. Dozens of e-mails piled up in my inbox at work.
I'm thinking that life is a lot like black ice. It can catch you unaware and send you into a slide. And sometimes all you can do is hold on and hope for the best and hope there are people who care about you on the other side.
Love,
Rachel
Your Turn: I am realizing that my life is a series of notes. Everything that happens to me is like a lecture that I'm attending, but I'm not using a pen and a spiral notebook to record the details. Everything that happens to me is recorded at a physical, intellectual, emotional and spiritual level. And it's all notes that I can write from. Your life is like that, too. It's part of living a writer's life.
It's frigid outdoors. I don't think my furnace is working correctly. It's snowing. I'm tired. My ears hurt.
I came home and wrapped up in one quilt and was thinking that Monday sounds like Mundane.
That's all. Just thinking about how some words sound like others (which is after all, a writer's trick that you can use.)
Going to go upstairs and change out of my snow-soaked dress pants and find a second blanket...
Love, Rachel
That I was a pink bubble floating around in the sky. You know, a bigger version of one of those soap bubbles that you'd blow through a wand as a child. (J. and I took two bottles of bubbles to the park one day last spring and garnered quite a bit of attention.) If you've seen the Wizard of Oz, then you know that the good witch, Glinda, arrives via a pink bubble, and I think that's where I got the idea (as I've been playing with my Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch music box that my mom got me for Christmas.)
I couldn't just float through the air in my dream and step out in a beautiful pink dress. No, I had to start analyzing, with my dream, how fragile the female self-esteem can be, and how all of our bubbles have probably somehow burst, at one time or another. And how we're all kind of patched up, with some of our "surgeries" more evident than others. I was thinking of how a patched up bubble could get heavy with the weight of band-aids (even if they are Hello Kitty ones) or superglue or Mighty Putty or botox or whatever it is that we're using to put ourselves back together these days.
When I woke up, I knew that I should write this down. So here it is.
Love, Rachel
In forcing myself to reacquaint myself with reality today, I started doing some budgeting, which I absolutely hate to do. However, in going through my budget notebook, to try and find the account number of my super-secret savings account, I found a list of things J. and I had wished for last year.
And guess what? Almost every single item that we wrote down HAPPENED.
Here is what was on the list, to fix, to buy, and etc. Note how the items listed are all pretty specific. Maybe that's something I need to note to myself. To not be so vague with my wishes, and to not be afraid to ask for what I want. (My mom sent me a book for Christmas, in which she'd recorded things I said to my brothers, and I was struck by one Rachel statement which was, "Don't ask for that, you know we can't have it." Perhaps I am still employing too much of a preemptive strike.)
I am also wondering if wishes need to be handwritten to be more powerful. Don't know yet.
It's also funny because last year, if you'd asked me if I thought I'd have the money to make all of the following things happen, I would have just laughed and said, "there's no way I can afford new carpet, new paint, new furniture, and etc." Although my refinance was painful, it did clear the way for some of my list items to happen...
1. Jaeme's bathtub
**done. We now have hot water because the hot water heater was replaced in early December.
2. My shower
**done. The contractor repaired my shower wall this summer.
3. The backyard.
**done. The contractors son ripped out all the weeds and took out the decaying deck. We've now got stones and a mall patio instead.
4. The television.
**done. I bought a new one for the downstairs this summer as part of our redecorating scheme. The old one was flickering and not working all that great.
5. Carpets.
**done. I had all the old carpet pulled up and new carpet installed this summer.
6. Couch.
**done. I got a new couch and loveseat from IKEA this summer. The old couch was slipcovered and donated to a woman who needed a whole new house full of furniture.
7. Lightbulbs in Jaeme's room.
**done. Her dad replaced those for us.
8. Hair Stuff Clutter.
**kind of done. We have a hard time not buying a million shampoos and conditioners, but as of today, my shower is cleared out of all but one shampoo and one conditioner.
9. Kithen Clutter.
**kind of done. It's an ongoing project, but my lazy susan is cleaned out (for now.)
10. Car Clutter.
**kind of done. It's all in a garbage bag, and I only need to drop it off at the dumpster.
11. New Vacuum Cleaner.
**done. Bought one this summer.
12. Shelves with Closing Doors.
**done. Bought chests and armories this summer; all of our clutter can now be hidden.
13. Stackable bins for inside the hall closet and pantry.
**done. We bought these last spring and got a few things organized.
14. Buy stuff that we need to have on hand like band-aids and chapstick.
**kind of. I didn't have a band-aid handy when I was slicing potatoes, but then we opened a box of Wild Life bandages from my mom, just in time, LOL.
15. Hire a housekeeper.
**no. This is still a "dream only" kind of expense, although I did talk with someone about doing this over the summer.
16. Paint and redecorate Jaeme's room.
**done. Summer project.
17. Paint and redecoate my room.
**done. Summer project.
18. Redecorate all bathrooms.
**done. Summer project
I have friends who are through with the holidays. They've taken down the decorations and restored their homes back to normal. But I haven't been able to make myself take down our little Christmas tree yet. I was thinking about the reason why today, and I think it's because I had such a great holiday break that I'm not ready to let go of it. Kind of like an extra-long hug with someone who you haven't seen in a very long time.
Whether or not I want the holidays to end, they will. On Monday morning, I will somehow wake myself up and tell J. that it's time for her to wake up, and we will have breakfast, and we will get in the car, and I will drop her off at her school, and I will drive myself to work and walk in through the front door. And it will be a very different Monday from two weeks prior, when C. drove me to his office in a blizzard and when we had cookies and extra-strength coffee for brunch, while I discussed magazine edits via cell phone with the founder of my company.
With the fact that reality dictates that the clock continue to move forward and the pages of the calendar continue to flip, I am brought face-to-face with the question of: what was it that made the holidays so special, and how can I bring that feeling into my "daily" life? I have figured out the question, but I don't know that I'm ready to write down the answer yet.
Love,
Rachel
Your Turn: What questions do you have that don't have answers? How hard do you work to answer them? Which questions are you okay with putting on hold for now?
In no particular order:
In 2009, I resolve to finish editing my novel, The One, and have it published by Amazon.com.
In 2009, I resolve to finish writing more classes and to be gracious enough to accept the help that's been offered to me to publish said classes and license them around the world.
In 2009, I resolve to be to be true to my own writing voice and to write the books I want to write and not overanalyze every little idea that I have for how well I think it will sell (which induces so much writing paralysis that I don't go forward with anything.)
In 2009, I resolve to live a writer's life, whatever that may be.
Love and happy writing wishes to all in 2009,
Rachel
Christmas Eve
epicurious.com
albertsons
sweet tomatoes
stumbling on the escalator
shopping for new knives
spiderman
snuggling on the couch
the fireplace
christmas story
salmon with pesto and almonds in puff pastry
salad with feta cheese and sliced apples
roasted potatoes with red peppers and garlic
apricot apple tart
white wine
"Vixen" and "Dasher" plates from pottery barn
jaeme
Titantic
Christmas
Titantic
2AM gifts
d&b purse
blanket with palm trees
reasons why I love you
sleeping in
cinnamon bread
coffee
jaeme
facebook.com
snowstorms
stories
sleeping
family man
snowstorms
red sweaters
sampan
snow storms
purple fortunes
iced over
coffee
matilda
just perfect.
We've been in one winter storm watch after another this holiday week, and the only good thing that I can say about it is that I haven't had to drive anywhere myself. The opening sentence of an article in the Salt Lake Tribune echoed a conversation I had about the snow with C. last night--that this White Christmas is causing plenty of problems for Utah residents.
Last night, we went to get Chinese food. When we left, the snow had turned to rain. The roads were slushy and there were gigantic puddles of water everywhere. In about an hour at the restaurant, the temperature dropped to 29 degrees, slicking everything over and coating the roads with a layer of white that was so opaque that you couldn't tell where the road dividers started and ended.
C. is a good driver, and he got us back safely, but as we were standing in his garage and looking out at the mess, I was thinking how much nicer it would be if we were standing on the deck of an outdoor restaurant in a place like Florida. I was imagining what it would be like to see the sunset instead of a snowstorm. After all, it was 80 in Florida yesterday.
Love, Rachel
P.S. Where's the writing comment in this post? Let's see. Go somewhere familiar to you. Close your eyes. And imagine being in the same time slot, with the same person, but in a different location. It will change your story. So, choose your scenery with care.
This Christmas, I've already been the recipient of some really excellent gifts. For example, I think I wrote about my hot water heater. My dad gave me a new hot water heater for Christmas and my ex-husband offered to install it. Then when my hard drive crashed, I was able to afford to fix it due to the fact that I had my hot water heater gifted to me.
So, I've got hot water and my novel has been rescued and is safe back at home. For those two gifts alone, I am happy. But wait! There's more!
It's also already been a great holiday week because I've been able to spend a lot of extra time with C. We both miss our kids, of course, but we're happy to have the extra time to just be together: blizzards, power outages, blockbuster karma (inside joke), falling asleep on the couch watching "Without a Trace," figuring how how many scoops of coffee to put in his new coffee maker, planning what to cook for Christmas Eve, eating cookies for breakfast, and more. If I could package this week up and unwrap it over and over again, I would. Love you, C.
Through all of it, I've felt compelled to write. And, I had a new book idea this morning. Now if someone would find a way to STOP THE SNOW, it would be the perfect holiday.
Love, Rachel
I've been in a movie-watching craze this holiday season. In the last three days, I have probably watched a dozen movies. Last night, C. and I watched a movie called "Her Life Before Her Eyes," and I wasn't sure how well I liked it the first time. The ending kind of threw me off at first. I had to think about it for about ten minutes after the movie to really understand it and at that point, I wanted to see it again and see how the movie was put together.
As I told C. this morning, I didn't feel like the writing was flawed. No, the writing was pretty solid. It was the pacing of the movie that didn't work, and that's where I got bored towards the end. A reminder: some repetition in writing is GOOD. Too much repetition can be boring. I watched the movie for a second time this afternoon--not just for enjoyment but to look at the writing process.
Every movie that you watch can be like taking a writing class. Think about the movies where the story is seamless. Think about the movies where the plot drags on--where? WHY? Think about the movies that start to bore you because the writer is relying on overly conventional plot devices (seriously, after all the Lifetime/ABC Family "Made for TV" movies that I've seen this season, I solemnly swear to never use *SNOW* as a way to signal a happy ending.)
Watch movies and learn from the stories that are told. Movies are different from novels; movies sometimes get "free passes" from an excellent soundtrack, fabulous acting, or even special effects. Your novels must rely on words alone, but movies are still a good place to learn about what works and what doesn't.
There: I've just granted you a writer's permission to go veg out on your couch. Enjoy!
Love,
Rachel
This morning, the plan was to work from home. Unfortunately, we woke up with no power and a raging blizzard. I needed to get online and work on legal edits for the magazine, so C. drove us to his office, and we worked from there together. We had the whole place to ourselves, and we made a pot of coffee and ate cookies sent by one of the vendors. I had a call from the founder of the company on magazine edits and talked to our production manager twice. And I got a ton of work done via cell phone and laptop. It was a nice little preview of how my writing life could be. :)
As a writer, I sometimes forget the power of a change of venue. Sometimes it's all I need to be inspired: a slightly different location. It's a great writing trick, and best of all, it can be absolutely free.
Love,
Rachel
When I started blogging again, I resolved to keep this about writing, and not about my personal life. It's not always easy because my writing life and my personal life are all intertwined with each other, so, I will do my best and see if I can always include something writing related in each post. It will be my secret ingredient.
I have been having a Christmas movie marathon today. J. is off to Illinois with her dad for Christmas, and C. has his girls and basketball until a little bit later. As I watched the movies, I saw a common theme in all of them, and that theme is: Snow=Magic and Happy Endings. In Home Alone, it starts snowing when the mom and family arrive home. In White Christmas, it starts snowing at the end of the movie. In I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, it starts snowing on Christmas morning (also the end of the movie.) In the Santa Clause 2, Tim Allen makes it start snowing in the carriage ride to the school party (note that the magical snow is only over the carriage, nice way to use magical snow.) In Lifetime Movie of unknown name, it starts snowing at the end of the movie when the kids get their wish of their parents getting back together. In Christmas Wedding, there's a romantic carriage ride through the snow to get to the church just in the nick of time.
In the movies, the snow is all magical and happy-ever-after. In real life, it's just not. We've had one dreary week of one winter storm watch after another, and while my little blue Cobalt has performed admirably, I am finding nothing magical in the snow.
Where's the magic in scraping ice from your windshield? Where's the magic in skidding through the intersection? Where's the magic in not knowing how on earth you are going to get home at night?
Where's the magic in wearing blue jeans and snow boots to work every day? Where's the magic of not being able to see where you are driving? Where's the magic of no snowplows operating in the state that claims to have the greatest snow on earth?
I have one good thing to say about the snow. It took me an hour to get home from work yesterday, but my very kind senior vice president told everyone to head out early (thanks T.T. for caring about your employees; it's much appreciated.) I headed up to J.'s school and picked her up, and when I pulled into our parking space, heart pounding, we start yelling and shouting that we'd made it home. It was a moment to rival the ending of any Rocky movies.
And now, I don't have to drive in any snow for the next two weeks if I don't want to do so. That's some real holiday magic to me.
Love,
Rachel
I think I want to be a data recoverist when I grow up. After talking with friends, I've calculated the average time of a laptop hard drive to be about 2 years, which makes it practically a consumable. No wonder prices on computers are falling--they are only a shell for a hard drive. I know that there are people out there who excel at backing up their data, but apparently there are others out there like me who take a risk and practically lose everything. I was quoted prices ranging from $25 to $2400 for data recovery service, and since I believed the lower and higher ends to be equally as ridiculous, I chose a price which I believed to be realistic based on the number of hours that C. advised me it would take to fix my computer.
If I had the skills to recover data for people, it would be a great service oriented business to offer. Since I believe that hard drives will continue to be consumables, that means that the number of people who need data recovered will likely continue to increase. And having data recovered isn't a folly--for those of us who are aspiring novelists or for those who make their living on the computer, it's a necessity. Plus, you know people always say that if they had a fire, they'd grab their photo albums? Well, what about grabbing photos from your smokin' hard drive?
I am taking the advice of an e-mail I received and looking upon the fixing of my computer as an investment. And, as C. said, the value of my content is worth much more than the cost to recover and fix my computer. I wonder how many others would feel the same way.
The good news is that Harrison was able to recover my novel and everything else that was hiding behind the MBR error. He's also fixing up my computer with a brand-new hard drive and some other things that it needs to run more efficiently. Thank goodness for Harrison--my laptop shell will get another 2 years, and I will be more diligent about backing up those things which are important to me.
Love, Rachel
Last night, I
made the conscious choice not to bring my work laptop home. I knew if it was there that I’d be inclined
to work and check my e-mail. So, when I
got home, and J. was with her dad, and C. was at a business dinner, it was just
me and Jasmine (my cat) and NO INTERNET for three whole hours until J. came
home. I didn’t realize how addicted I
was to my computer or how much time I spent checking e-mail, facebook, blogs,
and www.lowcarbfriends.com until I
didn’t have any internet access last night.
